


Wager

by GoodJanet



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Suggestive Themes, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-17 23:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7289530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodJanet/pseuds/GoodJanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob makes some poorly placed bets and ends up a part of Bing’s winnings. Bob isn't so thrilled about this new arrangement, but Bing thinks there might be something else there, lurking beneath the surface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The men gathered around to witness the spectacle laugh and jeer. Bob puts on a brave face as they poke and prod him, checking his muscles and joints as though he were a piece of meat. One thick hand strokes down to his lower back, and he shivers.

"Watch it!" he warns, earning more laughter.

It is only the sound of spurs that sends a hush over the small crowd. The men slowly move aside for a thin man in a black cowboy hat and piercing blue eyes.

“Fellas, now, there must be some kind of mistake here,” Bob says with a gulp.

“Yeah,” the bookie grunts. “You.”

The bookie gives him a shove forward.

“Watch it, Slim. Bookie today, stable mucker tomorrow!” Bob jeers.

“So you must be the lad who bet yourself against my Queen," the mystery man says with barely contained laughter.

The man walks up to Bob, who stays quiet, eyes wide as the man slowly circles him. He, too, feels up his arms and even goes so far as to check his teeth. Bob resists the urge to bite his fingers. Then the man is back in front of him, hands on his hips, looking like he wasn't sure what to make of things.

There had to be a way out of this. He could reason with him. Bob holds the man’s gaze.

“Stop undressing me with your eyes,” Bob quips.

He might be a prize, but he wasn’t a pushover. He was still a man of his own.

Bing’s eyes flick up to meet his, and Bob notices the twitches at the corners of his mouth that wants to be a smile. Bob considers it a victory, albeit a small one. The moment drags on for just a bit too long, and Bob feels the need to avert his eyes before he started laughing and got punched in the eye for making trouble. He hates that he feels the need to be so complacent in his presence. He wishes the other men would shove off already.

“Keep your pants on, Junior. I’m just surveying my goods. They tell me you’ll be my new ranchhand. You ever worked a ranch before, boy?”

“Oh, _your_ goods, eh? Last time I checked, I was my own man. I work my own land.”

“You bet all your cash, your jalopy, and yourself on that last horse race. That'st a mighty large debt to pay off, and the sooner you accept that, why, the sooner we'll be free of each other.”

“You're all backwards! Of course I’ve worked a ranch. I’m wearing cowboy clothes, ain’t I?”

Bing huffs a laugh.

“You sure is,” Bing says playfully.

To the gathered crowd, he says, “Load up my wagon, will you, Slim? Junior and I have some terms and conditions to discuss.”

Bing claps a heavy hand on Bob’s shoulder and pulls him off in the direction of the rows of seats, still full of people waiting for the next race to start. The crowd finally disperses.

“Now let’s start this thing off on the right foot. I’m Bing.”

“Right foot,” Bob mutters. “I’m Bob. Unless you were planning on renaming your new pet.”

Bing doesn’t try to hide his smile this time. It almost makes him look handsome.

“Look, now the way I see it, you got yourself into a scrape with your betting. And I’m in a scrape on my ranch. I don’t see why we both can’t benefit from this situation. It’s a nice ranch.”

“What’ll you do if I decide to run off into the night?” Bob asks.

Bing takes some time to think about it.

“Well, I couldn’t blame you. You’re your own man, as you said. But you owe me a debt, and if you won’t pay it off properly, then I’m sure the authorities would be happy to take care of it for me.”

Bob’s face pales. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his days in the county jail. Sure, city jails were much worse, but country jails didn’t exactly appeal to him either.

“I’m sunk,” Bob says, dropping his head into his hands.

Bing sets a heavy hand on the back of Bob’s neck, and Bob shivers. Bing’s thumb rubs the left side of his neck before it slipped down to his shoulder. It’s warm and comforting.

“Those overalls suit you,” Bing says after a quiet moment of watching people rush about as the horses went into position behind the gate.

“You mean that?” Bob asks, voice muffled by his hands.

Bing laughs and slaps his knee with his right hand. Bob hates that he misses the warmth and weight of it.

“Good heavens, no. You look utterly ridiculous.” Bing sits back in his seat and pulls out his cigarettes and a match while Bob sputtered trying to think of a retort. “Downright foolish if you ask me.”

He shakes the match and flicks it away.

“Yeah, well, your ears stick out further than the brim of your cowboy hat!”

“Ohhhh,” Bing drawls. Bob wonders how he makes it get so deep like that. “Now that was just plain mean.”

Bing puffs away at his cigarette as he watches the horses charge full steam ahead. Noticing that Bing was distracted, Bob snatches the cig from between his fingers. Bing turns his attention back to his new servant and watches him take a long drag. Bob stares right back at him, like a defiant child waiting to be scolded. Bing notices that that is when that strange, warm feeling in his chest is back, so he presses it down deep where he hopes it will stay. In a secure place where watching Bob’s lips wrap around his cigarette won’t make him wish for things he can’t have.

Bing swallows and resumes watching the race. He feels Bob’s eyes shift their gaze to him rather than the track every so often. Bing hopes these burgeoning feelings go away sooner rather than later.


	2. Chapter 2

Bob learns that the whole reason Bing took him up on his offer is that two lazy ranch hands had let some coyotes pass them by during their night watch. The carnage included four chickens, a kid, and a piglet. Bing had fired them on the sport after the predators had been shot down. It was the principal of the thing, Bing had explained, but now he needed someone to help him pick up the slack since he was two hands short. That’s where Bob came in.

“Can handle a firearm?” Bing asks.

He finishes polishing the muzzle at the workbench in the barn before handing the weapon over.

“Sure I do. Why else would I be out in in the Territories?”

“Just checking.Avoid friendly fire, and you’ll do fine.”

Bob looks own and realizes he’s all alone with Bing and a fully loaded gun. The sun was setting too. A good natural cover…

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll shoot you?”

Bing cocks his head to the side. It’s like he can see something in Bob past the surface, and Bob isn’t sure if he likes that.

“No. Should I be?” he asks coolly.

Bob takes the safety off and the _click clack_ of metal on metal is deafening in the otherwise empty farmhouse. Bob looks at him and waits for Bing to make the next move. He doesn’t want to harm Bing, but he thinks he could if he needed to. Bob didn’t mind paying off this crazy debt, but he was no man’s prize. Bing shakes his head like he’s disappointed, and Bob's face heats with shame.

“I see,” Bing says with a disheartened laugh. “Well, if that’s the way you feel about it…”

Bing reaches for the muzzle of the gun and lifts it up, making no move to get it out of Bob’s hands. He places the mouth of the gun flush against his chest and stares down the length of it at Bob, blue eyes gone dark and closed off.

“Well, get on with it then,” Bing says.

Bob’s jaw drops open. He can’t believe what he’s hearing or seeing. Bing still has his calloused hand gently wrapped around the muzzle, staring and waiting to see what Bob would say or do. His bluff had been called, and Bing knows it. Bob takes a step back and lets the barrel point towards the floor. The safety clicks back on. Bing smiles crookedly.

“I hope you’ll trust me someday, Robert. I’m really not so bad of a guy.”

“I don’t want to be your slave.”

Bing laughs.

“Slave? You’re the fellow who bet your own life against my winning horse, aren’t you? There’s no law stating that you belong to me, and I wouldn’t do that to you anyway. I think some manual labor will do you some good. Might make you think next time before doing something so foolish. I certainly wouldn’t call feeding cows and mucking stables slavery. Why if you were my slave, I’d never let you leave the house.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that?”

“I’d want you nearby all the time.”

Bob’s stomach flutters, and he isn’t sure if it’s nerves or too much dinner or something else entirely. He licks his lips before speaking.

“That sort of talk is illegal, you know. Even out here in the Territories.”

Bing laughs again.

“Illegal, he says! And so is gambling, but that didn’t stop you.”

His eyes are bright and snapping again. Bob wonders if he’s going to try something, but he merely turns back to his work bench and starts polishing his own gun.

“Stop staring at me like that,” Bing tuts without even turning around. “We’ve got work to do.”


End file.
